


Theoretically, Hypothetically

by lurknomoar



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Hand Jobs, Honeymoon, M/M, PWP, Rory POV, Threesome, Threesome fantasy, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:30:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurknomoar/pseuds/lurknomoar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory doesn't think about having sex with the Doctor. Not really. Seriously, the thought never crossed his mind, or only crossed his mind in a vague, fleeting way he could then ignore through sheer willpower. But ignoring it became impossible when Amy started talking about it. As Amy keeps talking, Rory hesitates between outrage and embarrassment to finally settle on being outrageously, embarrassingly turned on. From then on, it only gets worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theoretically, Hypothetically

**Author's Note:**

> This is smut, pure and simple. I don't know what to say apart from the usual: my hand slipped and then I have already written 3K of threesome-fantasy porn.

Rory is fairly sure it wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for the Krasznahorkans and their purple tentacle-y heads and their deathly adherence to religious rituals and their terrifying, oversized laser guns. As it was, they spent all day (or whatever passed for a day here, in outer space) fleeing religious fundamentalists in flying saucers, who considered the colour blue an abomination to be destroyed on sight. It took a magnifying glass, lots of running, and a trip back in time to chat with the original author of the Book of Alabaster Truth just to ascertain that the list of abominations was rife with mistranslations, and _abhor the colour blue_ was supposed to mean _bathe regularly._ Even once they knew that, it was still up the Doctor to convince hundreds of enraged, gun-toting Krasznahorkans of the truth, while Amy and him sneaked down to the catacombs of the Great Octangular Cathedral to steal the four sacrificial virgins, (all of them blue-eyed young males willing to die, as the scripture decreed.) And this was supposed to be their honeymoon.

When they finally arrived back to the TARDIS, leaving the Krasznahorkans with the task of re-translating the guidebook of their society, the Doctor was grinning and giddy with success, none the worse for wear, but Amy and him were both out of breath and shaking with adrenaline. Rory couldn’t remember feeling this shaken, maybe apart from the time he first had to deal with arterial bleeding as a nurse. Or his wedding day, he was plenty shaken on his wedding day. But this felt much better, he was wired, energised in a way he could not account for. Amy looked at him, he looked at her, she raised her eyebrows, he nodded, and he had to blush at how obvious they were being, but he didn’t have the time to be properly mortified about the fact that he discussing sex with his wife right in front of the Doctor, because she took him by the arm, and dragged him off in the direction of their bedroom, throwing a quick ‘see you’ over her shoulder. 

As soon as the door closed behind them, they were kissing ferociously. Amy always kissed a little slyly, wickedly, licking into his mouth and withdrawing so he would stumble off-balance, chasing her kips. He didn’t know where to put his hands, wanting to touch her everywhere at the same time, holding on to her hips, her waist, her shoulder, brushing against her neck, her breasts, the side of her face. She was, like always, sure of what she was doing, pushing him with a hand on his chest until his back hit the ladder of their ridiculous bunk beds with a thump. He opened his mouth to offer some half-hearted protest about being manhandled, but Amy’s hand was on the back of his neck, pulling him down for a better angle, and when she grabbed his arse pull him flush against her, he couldn’t help but whimper into her mouth. She broke the kiss with a giggle.

‘Feeling the adrenaline, big boy?’ she said, adding a nip to his earlobe. ‘I can see that space-saucer chases turn you right on.’

Rory wanted to answer something cool and sexy or at the very least, something conducive to continuing making out, but once she mentioned adrenaline he couldn’t help remembering her halting explanation about kissing the Doctor. He did his best to shake the thought off, after all, it was in the past, and for heaven’s sake, she was his wife. But he couldn’t help that moment of awkward, disheartened silence, and she couldn’t help noticing.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, her voice still a little breathless, but full of concern.

‘Nothing.’ He snapped.

‘Bullshit. What’s wrong?’ she demanded, taking a step back from him.

‘It’s just that I remembered that you kissed him.’ He answered, quietly.

‘I already said I was sorry!’ she exclaimed, but she looked contrite. The mood was already quite ruined.

‘What was it like, kissing him?’ Rory asked, like picking at a scar, knowing it will hurt and unable to leave it alone. He was angry, and jealous, and he was absolutely aware that he sounded like a petulant child, and that only made it worse.

‘It was… it felt good.’ She said, contemplatively, but still meeting his eyes.

‘Would you have shagged him?’ he asked.

‘No!’ she snapped immediately.

‘Really?’ continued Rory, against his better judgement screaming at him to shut up already. ‘You were right there, in your room, by your bed, so it doesn’t really take such a huge leap of imagination. If he hadn’t stopped you, would you have shagged him?’

‘Well, maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘But you can’t really blame me.’

‘Can’t… can’t what?’ sputtered Rory, now genuinely angry. ‘It was the night before our wedding!’

‘And this is why you still don’t get time travel!’ countered Amy, with a hand on her hip. ‘It was the night before our wedding for as long as I decided it was. I could have shagged him that night, then spent many nights not shagging him. As atonement, if you will.’

‘That doesn’t change the fact that you kissed him!’ said Rory, raising his voice.

‘So what? Wouldn’t you have?’ snapped Amy.

‘…No.’ answered Rory, but the response was a split second too late, the tiniest bit uncertain, and the anger disappeared from Amy’s face, a wicked smirk taking its place.

‘You would have.’ Said Amy, her voice dropping into an awed whisper. ‘You would have, wouldn’t you? You would have kissed him just like I did.’

Rory made a vague sound of protest, but couldn’t for the life of him come up with a coherent retort.

‘Well, not exactly like I did, maybe a bit clumsier.’ Amy amended. ‘Cause I’m a far better kisser than you are. Yeah, you would have kissed him with too much tongue, maybe tried to hump his leg, like a desperate, adorable little puppy. ’

Rory still didn’t answer, rooted to the spot and dumb with mortification, while Amy stood there, that gloating grin growing wider and wider.

‘Yes, I know you would have tried to rub against him, trying to get off.’ Amy continued, and oh bloody hell, this wasn’t her mocking voice anymore. This was her proper dirty talking voice, low and breathy, the voice that could reduce him to a blushing, incoherent mess, even when she whispered in his ear at the bus stop, or the greengrocer’s, or a family dinner.

‘Because once you were kissing him, once you were sucking on his tongue, once you had tasted that mouth, you wouldn’t be thinking about anything else, you would only be thinking about getting off.’ Amy whispered. ‘You’d just hold on to a fistful of shirt and suspenders, and push against his thigh. He’s so tall, you couldn’t even look at him properly when you were doing it. You’d just hide your face, tucking it against his chest, all miserable, because you wouldn’t want to look at him, you don’t want him to know how hot you are for it, how much you want it, how much you need to come. But he can tell anyway, because you are clutching him so hard, and you are panting for it, and you are ready to come in your pants, rutting against him, yes, you are ready to come right there in your trousers just because you can’t wait, because you can’t wait a second longer.’

Rory had trouble breathing. He was sagging against the ladder, hoping against hope that Amy would somehow not notice that he was getting hard. He recalled the Doctor with a vivid accuracy he didn’t even know he was capable of, he remembered the way his voice sounded, the way he smelled slightly of thunderstorms and elderflowers, and his hands, god, the way his hands felt, so jittery and yet sure, he really wished he didn’t remember that. He was giddy and terrified and embarrassingly turned on. The fact that his wife was talking to him about another man, about the Doctor nonetheless, sent a twinge of shame through him, and with the shame came a mortifying jolt of pleasure that made him shudder. Amy looked at him slyly, smoothed back his sweat-drenched hair from his forehead, leant closer, so close that they were almost touching, 

‘Hey, do you think he’d take pity on you?’ Amy said. ‘When he saw how much you wanted it? Do you think he’d kiss you back, just a little, just so you’d stop squirming against him, and put a hand down your boxers? He has beautiful hands, you’ve been looking at them, you can’t deny it. He could wrap those long, clever fingers around your prick, and pull you off. Your knees would go so weak, you’d need to lean back into him, and you want to close your eyes out of shame, but you can’t, you have to keep them open, because you need to see his hand on your prick, his hand that’s pulling you off. You have to watch, but it makes harder to keep quiet, and you are biting your lips to keep from making those little noises, those little noises you always make, when you are so far gone that you want to beg, but you can’t get the words together. You don’t want him to hear that, do you?’

He could have stopped the entire thing, he could have told Amy to shut up, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was a low whine.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Very good.’ Grinned Amy. ‘Very good boy.’

Amy ran a careful, teasing finger down his prick, and even through two layers of clothing it was almost unbearable. Rory grabbed a rung of the ladder behind him, because he wanted to push up into her hand so much he could hardly stand it. Instead of grasping him properly, she kept up those evil, light touches, while she leaned close to whisper in his ear.

‘But what if he wants to hear that? What if he wants to hear the noises you make when you fall apart? What if he is watching his hand, pulling on your prick, watching your prick, thrusting into his hand, and likes it just as much as you do? Say, what if he runs his thumb over the head, just for the way you groan? You are leaning back against him, and you can feel that he is hard, you can feel it pressing into your arse, and if you just moved against him a little bit more, maybe he would make the same sounds you are making. Would you do it? Would you squirm back against his prick?’

‘Yes.’ Rory gasped. ‘Anything, please.’

Suddenly Amy stepped back, letting go of him. Her smile was still wicked, but no longer seductive, and she seemed remarkably collected, especially compared to Rory who was a sweaty mess, and whose legs had trouble holding him up.

‘I told you so.’ Said Amy, cheerfully. ‘You would have kissed him. Hell, you’d have shagged him. No doubts.’

It took Rory a few seconds to realise that he’d been played. When he gave in to a fantasy of the Doctor, of the Doctor’s hands on him, of the Doctor pressing in close behind him, he gave up all moral superiority he had over his wife. He never was a sore loser, but this was far too much even for him. He could walk to the TARDIS door, and throw himself out into space, because this was the sort of humiliation you can never live down, and Amy would remind him of it every day of his life. Or he could learn to live with in, to finally accept that his gorgeous ginger wife could do whatever she wanted to him, and he was powerless to stop her. Neither seemed too appealing, but when he remembered how the conversation started in the first place, a third option suddenly presented itself.

Rory screwed up all his centurion’s courage, and looked Amy straight in the eye.

‘You are right.’ He said, in the steadiest voice he could muster. ‘But in my defence, you wouldn’t have been content with a handjob.’

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

‘You’d have wanted to ride him.’ Added Rory, quite matter-of-factly. ‘Like you rode me, back in my parents’ kitchen when they were at the theatre watching Billy Elliot, you know, when we were seventeen. I know you like it best that way, cause you can set the speed, and I know what speed you would set for him.’

‘Do tell me.’ Said Amy, and she sounded like she was just humouring him, but he was sure he wasn’t imagining the glint of interest in her eye.

‘You’d ride him fast, and hard, as hard as it would take to shut him up. You know him, he’d probably try talking through it. He’d be down on the floor underneath you, his hair all messed up and those ridiculously long arms and legs spread-eagled, like he is trying to hold into something that isn’t there, and even when you were sitting on his dick, he’d still be trying to explain something about fascinating alien mating rituals or devices to correct interstellar anatomical incompatibilities. Bet you don’t like that, do you? You want him to say two words at most, yes and please. You think you could do it?’

‘Sure I could.’ Retorted Amy, shrugging out of her top. ‘What else do you think he’d say when he saw these?’

Rory was indeed momentarily speechless, her breasts usually had that effect on him. Amy’s breasts had an attitude, the same as the rest of her, they seemed to say ‘I double dare you’. So he took the dare, brushing his hands over them slowly, soft enough to tease but not quite satisfy.

‘I’m not sure.’ He continued. ‘I mean, he is hundreds of years old, I’m sure he noticed some humans have fleshy hemispheres in front. You’d want him to touch them, though. Hell, you’d drag his hands there yourself, and then, then he would look at you the way he looks each time he is astonished by humanity. You know the one?’

Amy nodded, and Rory was almost spitefully glad to catch the rising flush in her cheeks. He could feel the hard points of her nipples underneath his palms, and see that a bead of sweat was running down the side of her neck.

‘You could tug that atrocious bowtie down, too, and give his neck a proper bite.’ Rory said, lightly swiping his thumb over her nipples. ‘I’m pretty sure he bruises easily, that kind of pale skin usually does. Yes, he bruises easily, the mark would be there for days. I bet he doesn’t expect the first bite, he yelps and demands to know what you’re doing, but then he bends his neck back for you, giving it to you to bite everywhere, and when you get to that soft spot under his chin, he flails, not sure where to put his hands, but needing to grab something, and he would thrust up into you, all lopsided and clumsy, but it would fill you up all right.’

‘You think I want that?’ asked Amy. Rory could tell she was trying for nonchalant arrogance, even if she fell terribly short, her voice trailing off into a breathy moan.

‘I think you need that.’ He answered, now certain. ‘I think you want him inside you something terrible, and once you have that, you want it as deep and hard as you can. He is rutting up into you, gasping and panting, and you would be squirming on his prick to get a little more out of it, because you need to come now, and you need him to come inside you. You know, you’ll get the best angle, the kind that drives him so deep into you that his eyes roll back, if you just lean forward, brace your hands on his chest, yes, you can feel both his hearts roaring underneath your palms, and then just slam down. Can you imagine his face, the noises he would make, when he feels you so tight around him, grinding down on him, because you must –

Rory was cut off by Amy’s mouth slamming into him, kissing him with graceless, artless hunger.

‘Now.’ she growled into the kiss.

Both their mouths were open, and she sucked on his tongue greedily, their bodies melting against each other as she pushed a thigh between his legs to get even closer to him, pressing, pushing, rubbing. Both of them were breathing too hard for a kiss to last more than a few seconds, and Rory could have come just like that, but then her hands were on his zipper, deftly freeing his prick from his trousers and his boxers.

‘Mr Pond’ she said, with the perfect enunciation of the blind drunk and the desperately horny. ‘Fuck me right now.’

He was grateful to whatever gods of sex there were for not coming right at that moment. She tackled him down to the floor, and scrambled to get out of her skirt – but seeing the row of buttons she lost her patience, and just tugged off her panties. Rory shuddered as she grabbed his prick again, and struggled to remember something very important.

‘Condoms.’ He muttered. ‘We should…’

‘I said now.’

He couldn’t find the willpower to argue with that, so he let her flip them around, so he was lying on top of her on the vivid blue floor of their strange, bunk-bedded room. He pushed up her skirt and felt how wet she was, wet enough that he could push into her all at once, groaning as the wet heat enveloped him. Immediately, she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in even closer. He didn’t have the self-control for anything more complex than just rutting into her, but her hand quickly found his arse and grabbed hard, clenching and pushing and setting the pace just like she always did. But this time the pace was just faster, even faster, fucking her fast and ferocious, and her pushing up into every thrust so hard her hips her back arched off the floor.

Rory could see her beneath him, gasping and flushed, her hair fanned out on the floor, looking back up at him, and he knew that this never-before-seen urgency was due to the Doctor, to the thought of fucking the Doctor. It should have felt terrible, it should have felt like cheating, or like being cheated on, but instead it was glorious. After all, he was still thinking about Amy, even if he imagined it was his prick inside her that made her fall apart like that, that it was him who fucked those breathy little sounds out of her. And as she was looking up at him, he could tell she wasn’t simply thinking about the Doctor – she saw him come closer and closer to the edge, blushing and squirming in the Doctor’s hand.

She brought her hand up to clench a fist in the short hair at the nape of his neck, a little painful and so, so sweet, he couldn’t help driving even harder into her. He could feel her tighten around him as she went over the edge with a scream she muffled by biting down on his shoulder. As her teeth clamped down, sending a lance of sharp pain through him, he helplessly thought _he bruises easily._ And then he was coming, coming inside her in shaking pulses, his vision flashing white-hot like the centre of an alien sun.

It took him a few seconds, maybe a few minutes to come back to himself. He was lying there, collapsed on top of her, both of them still gasping for breath. Realising that he must be crushing her, he pulled out, rolled off her and made to get up.

‘Where you going?’ She asked, grabbing his arm.

‘I tought…’ he stammered. ‘Cleanup.’

‘Clean up later.’ She commanded, tugging him back down on the floor, until he was lying in her arms. They were still almost fully clothed, sticky with sweat and sex and terribly overheated. As rational thought started creeping back in, and Rory actually realised what they had just done, the pleasantly sleepy afterglow dissipated in favour of sheer panic. He wanted to forget the entire thing, which would have seemed easier if hadn’t felt so incredibly good, but they needed to talk about it. It’s just he had no idea how to phrase the question.

‘What’s up now?’ she asked, sensing that he had gone rigid in her arms.

‘Do you really want to shag him?’ he blurted out, hating, simply hating how insecure he sounded.

‘Well’ answered Amy with a chuckle. ‘I won’t if you won’t.’

‘I don’t actually want to.’ Said Rory, and he was technically telling the truth – after all, the Doctor clearly wasn’t interested in him, and he would, of course, never have sex with someone who was unwilling. ‘It’s just that, you know, it seems like I think it would be hot. Theoretically.’

‘Sure, it’s like that.’ Said Amy thoughtfully. ‘Hypothetically, I want to shag him. In practise, having my own personal Roman centurion is quite enough. That’s okay with you, right?’

‘It’s very okay.’ Said Rory, and kissed her, because people like her just didn’t happen to people like him, and he felt warm and contented and shagged out down to his toes, and she looked the same, and if their marriage could handle the both of them having vividly inappropriate thoughts about a thousand-years-old two-hearted time-traveling alien, it could handle anything.

‘You wanna take a shower?’ he asked, after they broke apart.

‘Later.’ She murmured, and tucked her head under his arm. ‘Five minutes.’

They ended up falling asleep on the floor, with their arms around each other, Rory’s fly still undone and Amy’s panties still caught around her right ankle, the hum of the TARDIS engines guarding their sleep.

\---

By the time they finally made it back to the TARDIS controls, scrubbed clean and in fresh clothes, the Doctor has already set a course for the planet Hin Hin seven thousand years in the past, because he had just remembered that no honeymoon is complete without seeing the mating migration of carnivorous butterflies. He looked the two of them over, leaned in a little, and sniffed.

‘Oh, I see you have been to the new bathroom I had the TARDIS make for you!’ he exclaimed. ‘What do you think about the Ilinurean flameflower bathsalts? Cool, huh?’

He couldn’t for the life of him tell why Rory blushed crimson, and refused to meet his eyes for the rest of the day, and he didn’t know either why Amy gave him a blinding smile. But he was used to the fact that he didn’t always understand them, and that’s why it was so vital to keep them around – after all, humans could always surprise him. Something must have happened, but if they didn’t tell him about it, surely it can’t have been that important.

He never found out how wrong he was, and maybe that’s for the best. After all, most people don’t like to think about how their wife was conceived.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you'd like to say hi, drop in at @quietblogoflurk.tumblr.


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